


At the Royal York

by GalahadsGurl



Series: The Cahill Project [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Flashpoint, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Darcy Lewis, Damsels in Distress, F/M, M/M, Multi, Scientist Wrangler Darcy Lewis, The Cahill Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadsGurl/pseuds/GalahadsGurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Not Her Life. Darcy is Having a Hella Bad Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Royal York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caiti (Caitriona_3)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/gifts).



> Commission Work for Caiti. 
> 
> If you'd like a commission fic, please let me know on PM or email me at brittanymoody1275@yahoo.com. Thank you for your continued love for this story.

[](https://imgur.com/r3HQrEv)

This was not her life. 

That was the only thought Darcy had she stared at the thugs pouring into the room at the Royal York in Toronto where her boss – dear, sweet, absent-minded Jane who could not be bothered to eat when in the throes of a science bender, unless the food was put in her hand and guided to her mouth – was giving a lecture about her glowy, bridgey-thingy. (Jane's voice in her head corrected condenscingly, “Einstein-Rosenberg Bridge, Darcy,” earning a firm, “Shut up!”) Granted, she'd wanted a little excitement as she stared at the ceiling, bored out of her damned mind, but seriously? This was ridiculous. 

Abruptly, she became aware of her own jack-booted thug putting himself between her and the approaching men. “No! Jane! Get Jane!”

“Dr. Foster is gone. Braddock grabbed her and got her out as soon as these men arrived,” was the gravelly response from the pony-tailed agent. 

Even as she collapsed in sheer relief, Darcy couldn't help glaring up at the back of the man's head. Brock Rumlow had been very explicit about the true nature of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent assigned to be Jane's head of security. He took her protection – and by extension, Darcy's own – very seriously, but the things Brock had told her would not leave her be. She could not forget . . . that metal arm was a clear reminder as to why. Still, his constant presence since Thor had disappeared through his light bridge was unnerving. (Again the voice in her head that sounded like Jane corrected her “Einstein-Rosenberg Bridge, Darcy,” and this time she let out a mental hiss to rival anything she could say in real life, “SHUT UP JANE!”)

Agent James Barnes was a cold blooded killer. Forget the softness she saw sometimes in his eyes when he smiled at her, or the stark fondness in his features when he was shooting shit with Agent Barton – her dear, sweet, stupid friend Clint, who was clearly crazy for being friendly with the man. The Winter Soldier was a monster; Rumlow had been emphatic about that part and she wasn't disinclined to believe him. The Soldier would probably no sooner snap her neck as smile at her. 

Of course, if would be then that her entire world got rocked on its axis. 

The leader of this particular band of miscreants approached then, eyes intent on Darcy as he raged at her, “Where is Dr. Foster!” 

Unable to help it, Darcy cowered backwards as he reached out to grab her, fury clearly written across his face. Barnes moved effortlessly, blocking the action without a thought. That gravelled tone rumbled as he hissed, “You will not touch Ms. Lewis.”

“And who's going to stop me, huh? You? Please I will have my guys cut you down like a filthy cur,” he scoffed, a strong Scotch burr nearly obscuring the words as he glared furiously. 

Pearly white teeth flashed as the Soldier bared them viciously. “You can try . . . but I can promise that will take half of your men with me.”

Narrowing his eyes, the man considered the agent for a moment. “You think you're in any place to negotiate? We're in charge here, **Agent**.”

“Power is illusory,” Barnes recited calmly, ocean eyes boiling as he glared at him. “Those who have it change by the second. You are in control now . . . I will be watching for when that will change.” Leaning forward slightly, getting right in the twerp's face, Barnes hissed viciously, “And I promise . . . it will change.”

The two engaged in a tense standoff before the man sniffed dismissively. “I will find her. You cannot hide her from me.” Gesturing to his men, he insisted, “Put them with the others.”

Barnes literally growled at the lackey that reached to latch onto her, causing the hair on the back of Darcy's neck to stand straight up. “I did not stutter . . . do not touch her. We can move without your help,” he insisted in a hiss, watching the man backtrack, moving slowly as though Barnes was some kind of wild animal on the verge of attack. 

Resting a steady palm on the small of the intern's back, he ushered her briskly towards where the other scientists had been herded into a corner. There was a lot of panic running through the nerds and Darcy immediately stepped into her self-appointed role of “cat herder”. Moving briskly, she began to calm their panic and assess the situation in order to prevent any further bursts that could once again upset the equilibrium. “Sit down, bitch,” their guide insisted, gesturing vehemently with his MP5. 

In a move too fast for Darcy to track, the agent had the muzzle of the gun trapped tightly in his metal hand, grip subtly crunching the barrel in on itself. Glaring at the little bastard, Barnes hissed, “Seeing as dead and panicked hostages are not good hostages, may I suggest that you leave Ms Lewis to . . .” pausing, he twisted to look at the young woman calmly. “How do you say it?”

“Herd cats . . . herding scientists is like herding cats,” she reminded him, bending to calm a elderly man who looked as though he was only moments from having a panic attack, heart attack or some combination of both. “It's all right, Dr. Fraction . . . S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to get us out of here. Take deep breaths . . . this will all be over soon.”

Turning back to their captor, the agent cocked an eyebrow in question, shoving the destroyed muzzle away from himself almost lazily. “Any questions, _mudak_?”

Whatever the man saw in Barnes' face must have been horrific, because he almost literally fell all over himself in order to get away. Reaching out, Darcy touched the agent's arm and drew his attention to her. Smiling timidly – and suddenly aware that Rumlow may be a bit of an asshole – she promised, “You didn't have to do that.”

“You are Clint's friend, if nothing else. I make a habit of keeping my hawk happy. I will do what I can to keep you safe,” he vowed solemnly, offering her a small grin at the dumstruck look on her face. “I take it then that you didn't know we are . . . involved.”

“The little jackass never mentioned,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks flame. “And all the times I thought he was flirting . . .”

Here she blinked in shock as he interrupted her kindly, “. . . he probably was. _Khishchnick_ has not been able to stop thinking of you since that night at the bar in New York.”

“But you said . . .”

“You are not unattractive. I can understand his interest,” he replied quietly, fiddling with the glove covering the left hand. There were telltale signs of a blush as he guided her a seat in the corner and then put himself between her and the rest of the room. Considering how she'd felt about him only ten minutes before, the fondness in her tone now came as something of a shock even to her. “Have you been flirting with me too, Agent Barnes?”

Now the rosy glow was an all-over flush as he stammered, “I . . . well, I . . . not if you don't . . . is that okay?”

Leaning over, she brushed a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Maybe more than a I thought it would be, Agent Barnes.”

“Bucky,” was his response, blush deepening as he further explained, “My friends and family call me 'Bucky'.”

Resting her temple on his shoulders, she yawned widely, feeling herself start to come down from the adrenaline rush. “It's nice to meet you, Bucky. And since we're friends now, you can stop with the 'Ms Lewis' crap. It's Darcy . . . just Darcy.”

Winking at her in a surprisingly effective attempt at charm, he insisted warmly, “I'm fairly sure that you're not 'just' anything. But I guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh, Doll?”

The new nickname caused a jolt . . . and a warm glow suffused itself from her heart and out to her limbs as she grinned. “I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Bucky. Thank you; that was a very sweet thing to say.”

Face blanching slightly, he promised, “I'm not sweet. I am a bad man, Dollface; Rumlow was not wrong about that.”

“You know about that?” she asked, clearly mortified. 

“Yes. But it's all right; he's not wrong. The Winter Soldier – **_I_** – did terrible things before I started working for S.H.I.E.L.D. So did the Black Widow . . . so did the Viper . . . we are not good people. But I am not the creature they made me anymore. I have not been for quite some time.”

“Because of Clint?”

“Among other things. Marina . . . she started it . . . bringing me back to human. Clint just picked up from where she was forced to leave off. I owe them both what little humanity remains to me.”

“Marina? You mean Clint's sister, Marina?”

“ _Da_.”

“She's scary . . . though I've never met her personally. Brock has told me stories, though.”

“Be wary of Rumlow, Doll. He tells too many stories he shouldn't know at all. There are a lot of people with questions as to his loyalties.”

Nodding, Darcy ducked under his head as the head asshole came over once more. “Dr. Foster isn't here and I find myself losing my patience. Where is she!? Where are you hiding her!?”

“What the hell do you want with Jane!? You leave her alone, you big jerk!” the intern snapped angrily, lunging out from her safe place so as to protect her friend.

Bucky seemed to sigh at the action, grabbing her arm and hauling her back into him, free arm coming up to deflect the backhanded swing aimed for her face. Growling low in his throat like a rabid dog, Bucky forced the man to take an unsteady step backwards. Realizing how that looked in front of his men, the ass straightened his back and hissed. “Don't make me hurt you. Where is she? My employers want that bridge . . . I **need** that bridge!”

“Jane can't recreate the bridge,” Darcy insisted vehemently, “Only Tall, Blond and Muscley can do that. And I promise you, Thor will fuck you up if you fuck with his pint-sized lady-friend.”

“Thor isn't real, little girl. Thor is a myth. And myths are only stupid stories stupid people once told to explain what they did not have the mental capacity to explain,” he droned, speaking down to her as though she was a moron and putting Darcy's back up indignantly. 

Even knowing it was an idiotic idea to argue with King Asshole, she hissed, “You're a moron.”

Gritting his teeth, the hatred he felt for her was clearly splashed across his face. As was his reluctance to piss off Darcy's erstwhile protector. “I want Dr. Foster, bitch. And unless you want me to start killing these poor hostages, starting with Fido here, then I suggest you tell me what I want to know. Think on it; you have half an hour.”

Gasping at the threat, the woman looked up at Barnes with wide eyes, clearly distraught at the news. “Bucky . . . I don't know where she is! And if I don't tell him something, he's going to shoot you!” she choked, eyes very wide as she stared up the difference in their heights. 

“No matter what, you keep yourself safe. I am expendable, okay?” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close to try and steady her vibrating frame. “I promise, Doll . . . Sammy got her out of the building. This isn't his first protection assignment in this building; he knows every entrance and exit to this place intimately.” 

“So now what do we do?”

“We wait. If I know Sam, and seeing as he **is** my nephew I know him pretty damned well, the first thing he did when he got Jane out was call his Ma. And his Ma would have called in her Misfits; and trust me, you do **_not_** want to fuck with Marina's Misfits. They are badass and they will fuck you up.” Grinning at her softly, he bumped his shoulder into her as he teased, “Maybe not to the same level as say **THOR** , but still . . . major ass kicking. You should be excited. You're going to get a front row seat to the awesome that is the Strike Team Misfit.”

“Strike Team Misfit?”

“Oh yeah . . . prepare to have your world rocked,” he promised, pulling her closer for a second to press a warm, reassuring kiss to her temple. “No matter what happens, I'm going to be just fine. It'll take a lot to kill me . . . and frankly, these assholes don't have the firepower.”

Sniffling, she cuddled into him, nose buried in the hollow of his armpit and her fingers clutching his shirt. His heartbeat was loud in her ear and some part of her found herself using it as her timer, counting down to when the Asshole in Charge would try to stop it. 

It wasn't long before the idiot was back, a small squad of men with him as they literally tore her from his arms and dragged him away from the rest of the hostages. Darcy screamed, struggling violently against the two men holding onto her arms. Bucky glared up at the man, ocean eyes blazing in a set face, as the man pulled a pistol from his waistband and leveled it at the agent's chest. Glaring at the Soldier, he demanded, “Where is Dr. Foster!? Tell me . . . and I won't kill this man.”

Bucky's voice was calm as he insisted, “Darcy, he's lying . . . it's okay. Everything's going to be just fine.”

“For a man about to die, that's a hell of a thing to say to your girlfriend.”

“She's not my girlfriend . . . at least not yet. But I can promise you, she will be. By the end of today, I'm still going to be breathing whereas you are going to be meat in the morgue,” was the matter of fact insistence. 

“We'll just see about that,” he hissed, looking up at Darcy angrily. “One last time, where is she!?”

“I don't know. I swear I don't know. Please . . . don't do this!”

“Your call,” was the only response, before the man pulled the trigger, putting four bullets into Bucky's chest and abdomen to the accompaniment of Darcy's terrified and horrified screams. 

Bucky crumpled soundlessly, barely a grunt escaping his grit teeth as he lay still. A shock of adrenaline coursed through Darcy's veins as she managed to wrench herself free, lunging to kneel in the pool of blood spreading around the fallen agent. She was vaguely aware of the other hostages' frightened cries; she could only see Bucky's paling features. It was a moment, before she could focus enough to read the single word on Bucky's lips. “Cats,” he hissed breathlessly, body following as she pulled him onto his back to try and put pressure on the worst of the injuries. 

“What!?” What about cats?” she gasped, putting both hands on the wound in his abdomen and pressing down hard. 

“Doll . . . herd . . . cats. Panic . . . bad . . . cats,” he stuttered out, closing his eyes and curling upwards slightly at the pain caused by her actions. 

Reaching up with bloodied hands, she used the back of one hand to brush her hair out of her face and wipe at her nose, aware that she looked agitated. Understanding what he was trying to tell her, she nodded frenetically, before scrambling back to her feet and rushing back to calm the scientists once more, leaving Bucky to slowly bleed onto the floor. 

Kicking the agent in the ribs and earning a soft exhale, the leader told Darcy coldly, “Half an hour and another hostage gets shot.”

Strangling back her sobs, Darcy forced herself to calm, trying to gather the scientists into a group and convince them to stop screaming. As long as they were panicking, she couldn't focus on Bucky. More than anything, she wanted to help him; she didn't want to be the one to tell Clint that his lover had been murdered right in front of her eyes while she was helpless to do anything to stop it. 

Finally, the scientists calmed and Darcy dashed back to the Soldier, sliding in the blood slightly as she hit her knees. He was staring at the skylight in the ceiling, a small smile on his face as he reached up to grip her bicep. Giving her a bloody smile, he whispered soundlessly, “Watch . . . your . . . head.”

Bending forward to hear him better, she squeaked as he lifted his metal arm to wrap it around her and pull her into him, palm folded comfortably over the back of her skull. As soon as she was down, she screamed as suddenly there was a loud explosion overhead, and glass began to rain into the room from the skylight. Lines dropped into the room, seven men in black tactical gear descending into the room already firing at targets, as another eight people barged through the outside doors. Four of these – Darcy was shocked to see long hair and realize that they were women – held no weapons, though they were clearly no less deadly as they each cut a bloody swatch through the men closest to them. 

Before long, it was over and a small section of their rescuers veered off from securing the survivors to descend on her and Bucky. One of them burst forward, yanking off his balaclava to reveal Clint's terrified gray eyes and strained features. “Bucky!” he cried, hitting his knees opposite Darcy and grabbing for his free hand. 

“I'm . . . okay . . . _khishchnick_. Barely . . . nicked . . . me,” he gasped with a grin, one ocean eye slipping closed in an attempt at a cocky wink. 

“You're an idiot,” he scolded, leaning forward to press a hot kiss to the man's mouth. “My idiot, but still an idiot. Fuck . . . what the hell did you think you were doing?”

Darcy squirmed, her lady parts sitting up and taking notice of the way they leaned into each other, Clint's fingers tracing designs on the bloody cheek. Another two of the men – one of whom Darcy recognized as Jane's bodyguard Sam Braddock and the other with a ghastly scar marring his otherwise gorgeous face – moved forward, the scarred man insisting, “Clint . . . I'm sorry . . . you gotta move.”

Nodding, he stroked Bucky's cheek fondly. “I'm not gonna be far, Buck . . . but Doc's gotta take a look at you. I'm gonna be right here.”

“No . . . Doll . . . take care . . . of Doll,” was the strained protest, eyes searching for the woman who had become so much more than a mission in such a short amount of time. 

Clint frowned, asking cautiously, “Doll? Who's Doll?”

Bucky's smile was quiet and small as his eyes started to flutter. “Dar . . . cy . . .”

Whatever else he was going to say was interrupted as his eyes rolled back in his head and the Soldier finally lost consciousness. At which point, Vincent Keller – the only doctor at Medical who could (or would, but that wasn't something Darcy would learn until much later) work on the Winter Soldier – confidently shoved Clint hard and set to work. “Sam . . . get the soaker bandages and start applying pressure to the one in that shoulder. Clint . . . get her out of here. There's EMS outside. We gotta stop this bleeding, and I can't do that with you hovering,” he ordered briskly, twisting to wave another man from the clean-up team, “Aaron! Get over here! I need another set of capable hands!”

Nodding firmly, face going blank, Clint bent to press a long kiss to his boyfriend's forehead before standing and wrapping his arms around Darcy's waist to haul her to his feet. “No . . . I can't . . . this is my fault . . . I can't leave him,” she protested, knowing even as she tried that she couldn't escape his grip.

“Darcy . . . _peresmeshnika_ . . . you gotta let the Doc work, okay? He's going to do everything he can, but we gotta let him work. Come on . . . let's get you checked out, okay? Come on . . . walk with me,” he coaxed, wrapping one delectable arm around her shoulders and all but wrestling her from the ballroom that had been her worst nightmare for the last forty five minutes. 

Bucky woke three days later, a warm grip – callused from archery and achingly familiar – around his metal wrist. It was the softer, more gentle hand pressed palm to palm with the skin of the other that caused him to blink though, head turning slowly to take in its owner. Darcy sat there, eyes warm and limpid as she watched him stare at her. “Hey you . . . bought time you woke up. Nap time has long been over,” she insisted, a small smile creeping across her face in response to the honest grin that settled on his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Kinda high . . . is this a dream?” he asked cautiously, glancing over at Clint. 

His hawk was grinning at the question, standing from his chair and bending to press a warm kiss to his lips. “No, Buck . . . not a dream. I'm gonna go find a nurse. I'll be right back.”

Reluctant to let him go, Bucky twisted his hand in Clint's, gripping the younger man's wrist firmly. “ _Khishchnick_?”

Smoothing dark hair back – and that was annoying . . . who'd taken his hair out of its ponytail? – Clint bent again and captured his boyfriend's lips in his own, indulging the both of them in a long, leisurely kiss. It was the aroused sigh from the other side of the bed that drew Bucky back to reality, drawing back and looking between the two most attractive people he'd ever known in confusion. “What's going on? What did I miss?”

“I'll let the _peresmeshnika_ fill you in. But no matter what, just remember . . . I am totally okay with this. _Da_?”

The former assassin's response was absent as he turned to look at Darcy, only vaguely conscious of his longtime partner disappearing from the room. “Dollface? What's going on?”

Standing from her chair, she leaned over him, her fingers pushing her hair back from her face. “Clint and I talked.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he drawled, “Obviously. About what?”

“You. Me. Him.” There was a pause as she considered her next words, before she too bent and caught his mouth in a sweet, languid kiss. Pulling away, she breathed against his lips, “Us.”

“Us?” he repeated, forcing himself to shut down the hope that was building itself in his chest against his will. 

“Yeah . . . us.” Fiddling with his fingers, she watched them as they played together with her own. “Do you think there could **be** an us?”

“Do you want there to be?” he asked, some small part of him aware that he was holding his breath in anticipation of her answer. 

“James Buchanan Barnes . . . if you think I'm going to let you go now, you are even more of an idiot than Clint warned me you were.”

“Dollface . . . we're not good men.”

“On the contrary,” she promised, bending to kiss him again, “. . . you are both the very best of men.”

(And if Darcy happened to see Brock Rumlow a few weeks later, limping and sporting a serious of vicious bruises on his face, well . . . it served him right for talking smack about the Hawk's older lover. She'd learned quickly that he may be the younger one of her boyfriends but he was also hella protective of what he loved. Frankly, she kinda like it . . . and if she decided to use that protectiveness to hunt down a few less than stellar ex-boyfriends in the future? At least she was pretty sure that there wasn't a jury in the world that would – or could – convict her.)


End file.
